


Make or Break

by Josey (cestus)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:45:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cestus/pseuds/Josey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kisuke has a decision to make and it's not an easy one. (Or the story of how Yoruichi ended up a cat.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make or Break

The day is waning. Scarlet streamers of cloud, as red as Benihime's veils, drag across the sky tugging sheeted night behind them. Below, the city changes pace; day-time bustle giving way to night-time hustle, voices rising and falling with the regularity of the tides, and lights spray across the horizon, a thousand fireflies dancing with shadows. 

Kisuke sees none of this, has seen and heard nothing for hours. The tile beneath him is losing the sun's heat, turning chill and damp in the twilight, and still he doesn't move. He is mired in thought, trapped in an eternal unspooling of possibility. Events are winding up behind him. The Vizard are... not fixed, but as 'melded' as he can make them. From now on it is up to them to make what they can of their lives, there is nothing more he can do. 

And now this least of his obligations is fulfilled, his thoughts have turned in another direction. Aizen's treachery festers like a splinter of metal under a nail, a pulsing throb that refuses to be ignored. In many ways the problem with the Vizard has been a boon. The initial urge to tear through Aizen's defences with rabid ferocity has, of necessity, been stalled. Now his desire for vengeance is a controlled conflagration, burning deeper than hell itself and Kisuke stands at its heart, letting it scour him with purpose pure, because he cannot afford a single mistake if he intends to take them down. And he will. _That is a promise._

Unfortunately all potential plans are foxed by a single and devilishly ticklish problem. In order to move forward at all, they must have information. To acquire that information, they must gain access to Soul Society and, whereas opening a senkaimon is child's play and navigating the dangai nothing when shunpo is second nature, the crux of the issue lies between those two simple steps. 

Kisuke is in no doubt that his exile has been formally invoked by now and alongside it those for Tessai and Yoruichi as well. Central 46 is nothing if not thorough in its pettiness. With that in place, it is impossible for any of them to pass through the gate unnoticed, and destroying the bakudo preventing their passage will simply pinpoint their location, rewarding them no doubt with a visit from the onmitsukido – not something Kisuke wants to encourage, thank you so much.

What is needed is some way to warp a reiryoku signature without damaging the soul and that is taking careful work; changing the Vizard felt like pounding raw iron in comparison. He has some ideas, has done some experiments (quietly, secretly, there's no point in drawing attention,) and he's fairly positive that the answer lies with the new gigai he's made. It's certainly worked in field tests but he's scientist enough to concede that three trial runs on mod souls does not an adequate sample make. The trouble is, if he uses human souls... Well, they're back to late night visits from his old division and really he'd rather not. 

The only other alternative is to find a volunteer. He'd do it himself except then who would collect the data, and Tessai cannot be spared from his task of keeping them hidden. Which leaves only Yoruichi. 

Long fingers flex around a lax body and Kisuke lifts the gigai, dangling it above his chest and cocking his head slightly, the better to peer beneath the brim of his hat. It's excellent work, even if he does say so himself, combining elements of the untraceable model with a new prototype. The fur is shadow dark, dense and soft, the joints flexible, the eyes bright. All in all the perfect gigai, if you are a cat, and Yoruichi, despite her propensity for sneaking and sleeping in sunbeams, is not. And therein lies the rub, the reason he has been here for hours staring at the sky.

To lie or not lie, that is the question. By Kisuke's calculation there is a seventy percent chance that the gigai will act precisely as it was designed. And if that was all there was to it, he would have no hesitation in hustling Yoruichi inside the thing at the first opportunity. With her soul forced into the shape of a cat, her reiryoku should follow suit and after a period of training she will be able to swap between the two forms without the gigai, allowing her to pass unnoticed through a senkaimon. Not only that but cats are a familiar enough sight in the Seiretei that the disguise will function perfectly for undercover work at the other end. If it works, it's the perfect solution to their problems.

Unfortunately, and this is where Kisuke starts having doubts, there is also a twenty percent chance that the shape changing effects will be permanent, fixing Yoruichi's soul into that of a cat for the rest of her life, and a ten percent chance that she'll get stuck in the actual gigai rendering her, to all intents and purposes, mortal. Those are not good odds. Not for her. But Kisuke knows what Yoruichi will say if he tells her the truth. 

He still remembers the day she came to tell him she had put his name forward for a captaincy. At the time he was not much more than a highly trained barrel of power with little clue how to be a real leader, content to remain in her shadow, immersed in his tinkerings and plottings. But she believed he could do it. She always did. Always does.

He blinks, swallows and blinks again, turning the feline gigai draped over the palm of his hand slowly one way and then the other. Sometimes the depth of her faith terrifies him. 

_'And you take shameless advantage, don't you',_ a little voice at the back of his head suggests. His conscience, poor stunted thing that it is. 

_'I do,'_ he admits, bringing the cat down to rest under his chin. It's warm and yet lax, like a creature newly dead. 

If Yoruichi decides to do this, it will take a minimum of three years to mould her soul into the correct shape and another two after that of constant practice without the gigai. If she does this, he will all but lose her human self for five years and could potentially lose her forever. The safest thing would be to destroy the gigai and yet... 

Kisuke sighs and runs his hand down the furry flank. This shape would suit her, he thinks. She's half cat already and honestly he can think of no other way to bypass the wards. If it was his risk alone to take, the decision would easy. He's no stranger to being his own experimental subject, he's done it a thousand times. Yoruichi though is different. She is... 

A window creaks, a foot falls on tile. "Eh, Kisuke! You planning on sleeping up there?"

...precious, he thinks. Priceless. 

He blocks the kick with his forearm, guarding the gigai from possible damage, and tips his hat clear of his eyes with his other hand. She's standing above him, silhouetted against the stars, her short yukata shifting in the breeze just enough to reveal smooth inner thighs. Quite probably peerless, he thinks, his Shihoin princess, the goddess of flash. She is beautiful, sleek and lovely, everything a man could possibly desire. She is also stronger and more courageous than he could ever dream of being and he owes everything he is to her and more. 

Letting his usual inane smile curve his lips, he offers up the reply like a shinsen at a beloved shrine. "Ah Yoruichi-san, such a nostalgic night, wouldn't you agree?" 

Her eyes narrow and she sinks to the tile beside him, silent and expectant, her legs casually crossed in that unthinking way she has, elbows propped on her knees. Her yukata gapes revealing the soft curve of her breasts and Kisuke's fingers flex with the urge to touch her there. He's brought to stillness by eyes, as wide, golden and amused as a cat's. She's laughing at him, at the effect she has on him, a gentle mockery that has been as constant a companion as the lady herself. 

To lose this, to lose _her_ is unthinkable. 

Excuses crowd his mouth, couched in protection and worry and concern. He forces them out, sending them skipping across the distance between them, watching in increasing desperation as his every attempt to wrap the truth in webs of obfuscation is expertly unwrapped.

When he finishes, she cocks her head and asks one thing, "Do you think this will work?"

He sighs, gracious in defeat, and answers the only way he can, because to her above all, he owes the truth. "Yes," he says, "I do." 

 

Fin


End file.
